Outnumbered, Outgunned
by Blitzindite
Summary: An older human leaned over a computer, watched it with a careful eye. Then, "The west wall has been breached. The insurgents are here."


**Warnings: **Violence, Minor Character Death, Major Character Injury  
_Characters: Jameson Jackson, Minor Characters_

_ (( doing a bit of backtracking to during the Galactic Civil War (mostly just because I wanted to write a battle scene); the main parts of the AU are set after the Empire fell. In other words, while Jameson was still an Imperial officer for the AU. This fight's what cost JJ his voice ))_

* * *

"Where is Colonel Sil with the rest of his men?"

Only frantic shaking of heads and scrambling for buttons answered. Then, "We don't know, Sir; communications are down!"

Voices started drowning each other out with shouting, chaos, noise Commander Jackson couldn't make himself heard over.

"—has infiltrated the perimeter!"

"—speeders incoming—"

"—lost another signal—"

"That is enough!" No one heard. They were too loud, too panicked. Setting his jaw, Jackson pulled his blaster from his hip, pointed skyward, and shot a bolt into the ceiling. "Silence!"

Finally, finally, shouting fell quiet. The troops at Sil's outpost were undisciplined; they'd never expected to be attacked and panicked at the first sign of such an event. Jackson would need a word with whoever put Sil in charge. He'd heard good things about them when they were the ones leading an attack. Clearly, the same didn't apply when roles were reversed.

"Now." He holstered his blaster, cast a cold glare through the room. A few stormtroopers, but otherwise the rest were unarmored and outgunned. Most of the ones Sil had left behind worked on computers, save a few troops left behind to patrol the halls and protect the perimeter. The _now breached _perimeter. They would be on the outpost soon.

The intercepted transmission had been a trap. Of course it had been a trap—Jackson and the two hackers who had accompanied him to Sil's outpost had even warned the man!—but the thickheaded colonel wouldn't listen. He needed to lay off on his trigger finger.

"Are base intercom systems still functioning?"

"Ah…yes, Sir."

"Good, good." He cut toward the man who had spoken. His boots clicked in the silence to have fallen over the command room. "Until Colonel Sil returns, I am in charge." He reached for the comm but paused as he saw the looks a few of the men were giving each other. His mouth twisted into a frown.

"Sir, you command spies and hackers, not—"

"As I am aware. Do you have a better idea, soldier?" No answer. "Then this will have to do."

Three cadets were ordered to strip their armor plating, leaving only the black bodysuits beneath. They were given what blasters and explosives they could carry without making noise, then helped into the ceiling vents by troopers. They were to try and outflank the enemy when they made it into the halls, catch them from behind, try to move positions before they were pinpointed and start it over again.

"Try not to get yourselves killed," Jackson ordered.

A fourth woman, one of Jackson's hackers and also small enough for the vents, stayed behind. For now. The information that needed to get to the higher-ups was being uploaded to a small drive that she would take with her into the vents. She would hide away in the ceiling with it, wait until she could safely leave the vents.

If it came down to it, the computers themselves would be destroyed to keep the enemy from getting to the information on them. It would take too long to wipe the files—they could easily miss something. That drive needed to stay safe, as there may not be anything left from the computers otherwise.

Jackson punched the intercom button, leaned down, listened for his voice to echo through the outpost. "This is Commander Jackson. To all stormtroopers still on base: Gather explosives and hide yourselves. Ambush the insurgents from behind and change position before they have a chance to fire on you—"

"Guerrilla tactics?" Jackson couldn't see the speaker's eyes beneath his cap, but he looked skeptical. "That is the enemy's—"

"And it has worked for the enemy before, has it not? We're limited on men and firepower. This is the only chance we have if we want to hold the outpost until Colonel Sil returns."

"It has to work." A heavy trooper was nodding. She'd been injured in a mishap, left behind by Sil because she couldn't walk properly with her leg so banged up. She would've been a liability to him and the rest of his troops. That worked out for Jackson. An explosives expert, good.

He sent four men to gather blasters, explosives, whatever they could get their hands on to bring back to the command room. He had the injured trooper squeeze into a place she would remain unseen unless the insurgents were right on top of her. She would shoot from there, and be the one to destroy the computers if it came down to that. They needed her firepower, but they also needed her out of the way.

Maybe Jackson didn't know how to order troops for a battle, but he _did _know how to treat something as espionage-turned-sabotage. A spying mission gone south, think of it that way. Ambushes and well-timed explosions were the only way to get through this.

The outpost shook. Jackson's hacker took the drive and scurried into the vent. The enemy was upon them.

Deep breath. Sil would return soon. He had to.

The four returned from their collecting, handed blasters off to those who had been unarmed, offered explosives to the few stormtroopers in the room.

An older human leaned over a computer (Jackson couldn't recall his operating number but knew he'd served the outpost since its formation), watched it with a careful eye. Then, "The west wall has been breached. The insurgents are here."

Jackson ducked behind the center control panel, held his blaster to his chest.

An astromech wheeled past him, to which he nudged it with a foot and jabbed a finger to the other side of the room. "Get communications fixed. Now!" It chittered and obeyed. He could only hope it got them fixed soon.

Another explosion.

"They've made it into the south wing, but it seems the cadets and other troopers have them slowed down."

"Only temporarily," Jackson reminded. "They'll keep advancing until they reach us. We can only hope the cadets and troopers in the halls have thinned their numbers."

More banging, explosions—Jackson could hear the blaster fire, now.

"Approaching east wing."

"Don't let them destroy that mech. We need those communications!" The room shook violently. "They're here."

The explosion to tear through the door took out one of their troopers. The rest of the room opened fire.

The insurgents were left scrambling to avoid being shot.

They hadn't been expecting much of a fight from this room. They'd only expected a few troopers, while the rest would be mostly computer workers. Defenseless, that's what they'd anticipated.

Jackson glanced to the stormtrooper to his left. He tipped his head toward the blown open door. "Roll a grenade through it," he ordered in a low whisper.

Another explosion soon after the trooper obeyed.

Blaster bolts nearly hit the working droid. Jackson grit his teeth and growled, raised his weapon, peered around the terminal, opened fire. "I said protect that mech!"

Nine.

He could count how many of their men were left in the room and the Rebels just kept coming. They were down to two stormtroopers. The rest were the computer workers.

Eight.

Jackson cursed as his blaster was shot out of his hand. He clutched his hand to his chest and tucked himself behind the terminal. Wait for a weapon to become available.

With bared teeth he watched the trooper nearest to him fall.

Through blaster fire, Jackson lunged and rolled for the next terminal, wrestled the blaster out from under the downed trooper.

Seven.

They were dropping, one-by-one. They had one stormtrooper left, the one hidden out of view, but she wouldn't last much longer. None of them would.

Six.

Jackson's remaining hacker was gunned down by a particularly pissed off Twi'lek Rebel.

The droid started chirping, spinning—communications were back online, but only temporarily. Jackson lunged for the next terminal, hissed through clenched teeth as a shot connected with his leg.

Five.

He reached blindly for the comm and pressed the button down from behind the terminal; hopefully his hand wouldn't get shot. The signal was weak—the droid wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

"This is JSE-815—we are under attack! We require immediate assistance, I repeat—argh, no!" A blaster bolt hit the astromech, ending the transmission short. They could only hope the fleet above the planet had caught it before it cut off.

Four.

Jackson and two others were forced to back up, back toward the center of the room, as the enemy closed in. The officer could only grit his teeth as he forced his injured leg to cooperate with him.

"Sir!"

The remaining stormtrooper threw her bag of grenades; one of the others caught it just as she was shot straight through the visor on her helmet.

Three.

The three who remained backed against each other.

"Drop your blasters," Jackson ordered.

"But, Sir—"

"Take and arm as many grenades as you can. We must destroy the room; we can't allow the enemy to reach the computers. Don't allow them this victory."

The other two glanced to each other, but nodded. "Yes, Sir."

They rolled the grenades so they would remain unseen through the smoke. Rolled them toward the computers, the entrance, the shorted-out astromech.

One of the Rebels noticed only too late when he kicked one of the rolling explosives toward a wall.

"Grenade! Get d—"

_Boom._


End file.
